


or maybe teriyaki

by breathingvacancy



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: F/F, Gen, Light Angst, Mention of Gore, POV Second Person, Tokyo Ghoul Femslash Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 06:10:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6144085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breathingvacancy/pseuds/breathingvacancy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She told you once that you smelled sweet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	or maybe teriyaki

**Author's Note:**

> Pretentious, stylistic punctuation mistakes. Mild, brief mention of gore. A sloppier version of this was on my dA but I thought it fit the prompt better than anything else I could come up with so I edited it and moved it to my tumblr. Which I am cross-posting here.

She told you once that you smelled sweet.

You were pressed right up against her on the train, your soft and somewhat too big body (in your eyes, never hers, she’d noticed your lack of confidence and hit you over the head, called you stupid. You were the cutest girl she knew and you blushed and teased her when she did the same, feeling fantastic about yourself for the first time in ages) crushed against her compact, athletic one on the outskirts of the crowd.

The small swell of her breasts smushed against your collar bone, the long side of her bangs tickling your cheek in a way that was kind of annoying and itchy and kind of pleasant at the same time. It was too hot to be so close like that, but there wasn’t room to be anywhere else and you didn’t mind it a bit. You still remember explicitly how it felt because now it’s that feeling you miss the most.

And she, she looked at you.

She looked at you like she was looking at something strangely beautiful and dangerous. Like an exotic frog. Pretty pretty colors, picture perfect venom.

And you said her name and tipped your head just a little bit, equal parts concerned and confused.

“You smell sweet,” was how she answered and you almost didn’t quite hear it and almost weren’t sure what you heard because the train was so loud and her voice was anything but, dewdrops on shamrocks and dusty bewilderment.

“Huh?” was your immediate reaction.

She blinked and it seemed like she only then realized what she’d said. She cleared her throat and shook her head.

“Nothing! We should’ve waited for the next train. It’s way too stuffy today!”

You giggled because she was embarrassed but you’d always known there was softness beneath her porcupine exterior, softness for you at least. She seemed tough as nails and offhand, scratchy like steel wool with a three-second fuse, but the smiles she saved for you were warm and subtle as sunbeams.

She wore the scarf you knitted her to match yours. She wore it even though those weren’t her colors and she told you it was her favorite. If anybody dare insult your knitting, she would certainly destroy them.

Yeah, she was soft for you.

And so you leaned even closer to her on that impossibly crowded train and inhaled a deep, deep lungful.

“You smell good too,” you chirped happily. And sometimes when all is still you close you eyes and you can still smell her almost as well as you could on that day, her scent of coffee beans and something else implacable but a bit like alfalfa.

And she’d looked almost startled that you’d said such a thing and defensively called you dumb as roses unfurled in her cheeks. She grabbed your own cheek and gave it a reproachful squeeze and you chuckled and didn’t even care that it did hurt a little because she was just so funny. You loved it. You love that memory, you love her.

But now…

Now she’s gone…

And now you know that when she said you smelled sweet, she didn’t mean sweet like cotton candy or spring lilies, or ripe red strawberries.

She meant sweet like barbecue sauce. She meant sweet like juicy, raw, red red meat.

Your aroma was not perfume, your aroma was delectable. It was her nature to tear you apart with crimson irises in umbra-dyed sclera, her nature to feast on your flesh and shear your fat from your sinew and gobble on your organs like a nightmarish beast.

She was a predator like you’d been seeing so much about on the news. She was a brutal demise for you in dining under the prettiest human guise you’d ever seen.

And yet…

That was okay. Because that was just how she was born, it was just who she was. That was who she was and whether it was in her nature or not, she would not rip you apart and devour you. For you, she was soft.

No matter what she was, above anything else, she was your most precious friend. She wouldn’t hurt you and after the shock of finding out trickled from your system, you realized you knew that as well as you knew the back of your hand.

She was who she was and that was okay. You were her friend anyway, you, you— you loved her anyway.

Yeah, you loved her anyway.

So you waited anyway. If she’d showed up, maybe you would’ve told her just how much. You checked your phone again and again. You sent her messages with emojis and vaguer promises, conveying this much at least, _hey I miss you._

And you still miss her. Three years later and you still miss her so much it makes you ache. You try to find her still. You bake and bake, sip coffee critically with all of your cafe creations to deliberate which ones are worthy enough to accompany the caffeine bean.

You need to find the perfect one so she’ll just have to sell it in that little coffee house she wanted to have. Maybe she already has it. If she doesn’t, you’ll help her build it.

You want to tell her that too.

You want to tell her everything. Because once you got past the prickly parts, she was always the easiest person to tell everything to.

And maybe she doesn’t love you the way you love her, maybe she loves that boy you saw and maybe he’s like her. Or maybe they broke up and maybe it was your kindly intended stew that drove him away. Maybe she found a new ghoul boy, but as long as she’s happy you’re okay.

You want to tell her that too.

You know she’d love you for what you are just like you love her for what she is, even if she wouldn’t love you in the same way.

You like to think that she still thinks about you sometimes, wherever she may be. You like to think she still wears that scarf. And if not, you’ll scold her for being insensitive and knit her a new one. Maybe you’re too old for that kind of behavior now, but you miss her so much and if you’re going to look the other way while she eats people who aren’t you, you get a little bit of rein to be immature.

You’ll find her one day.

You’ll search the whole world if you have to.


End file.
